


That which we call love by any other word would smell as sweet

by Veul_McLannon



Category: Discworld - Terry Pratchett
Genre: Established Relationship, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, vimes knows everything and is a great wingman and I love him
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-25
Updated: 2018-08-25
Packaged: 2019-07-02 13:57:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,639
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15797934
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Veul_McLannon/pseuds/Veul_McLannon
Summary: Another post-Truth fic, this time a quiet established relationship. They know they love each other but they Won't Say The Words. And that's fine.





	That which we call love by any other word would smell as sweet

**Author's Note:**

> Welp; bet youse all thought you'd seen the last of me! No such luck~  
> Nothing is mine as usual :)

A nondescript carriage drew up outside Pseudopolis Yard Watch House. The door opened. Exactly fifty-eight seconds later, if anyone had been counting, it drew away, through the freezing fog which had descended over the city around teatime and now permeated all but the most sturdy of residences.

Its three inhabitants sat in silence, respectively wary, unconcerned and relieved.

As it pulled up at the Palace gates and rolled neatly into the grounds, Vimes dragged himself out of his seat and alighted while it still moved, walking the last few metres with the horses, and glaring at the various pillars and cornices available to him. There was a brief pause when the coach stopped which, if he but knew it, was the result of a silent battle of wills between Lord Vetinari and his secretary regarding the appropriate order in which to descend from the carriage. Vetinari, of course, won, and swept down into the covered front entranceway without any obvious effort, turning back to offer his arm to Drumknott, who had suffered rather more than he had expected on the short journey, and was now a rather ashen shade. Vimes was still stoically scanning the facade for any signs of more mad killers, and Drumknott therefore accepted the arm, which was so unyielding under his weight that it may as well have been a genuine set of stairs, trying desperately not to cling unduly as he stretched his side slightly on the few steps to the ground.

A couple of moments after Drumknott’s feet had crunched on the gravel (and the two bureaucrats had engaged in an appropriate level of mutual eyebrow-raising), Vimes turned, his face displaying no inkling of what had been going on behind him.

“There will be double duty posted around the exterior of the premises, sir,” he intoned gruffly. “I would still prefer it if you would allow me to stake out the inside of the building, but I accept that the danger is no longer imminent.” His gaze had drifted into the middle distance by the second half of the sentence. Drumknott nearly smiled. It must have cost him quite a bit to accept _anything_. It then dawned on him after a moment’s reflection that the Commander had probably been – heaven forbid – _worried_ , and he smiled now down at his feet for a different reason. Vetinari had made a fine choice (as did he always) in dragging that one out of the gutters.

“Thank you, Vimes,” Vetinari said, nodding as he stepped past the watchman on his way up the palace steps, leaning perhaps a little more heavily on his cane than usual. It had been a tiring few days. Drumknott followed at an even slower pace, still smiling softly, and the pair vanished into the side door. Vimes stood for ten minutes outside, as still as a limestone pillar, before startling both coachman and horses when he climbed back in the carriage and told them to head on to Broad Way.

He hoped the stubborn idiots would recover soon. Maybe Sybil was even now knitting them socks for that very purpose. He grinned in the darkness at the image.

***

The palace was huge, it was ornate, ostentatious; a historical artefact, a hive of business and of commerce, a home and a life. One thing it was not, however, was accessible. After the first half flight of stairs, Drumknott was flagging considerably, the ashen colour of his face replaced by something akin to curdled milk.

Vetinari handed him his cane silently, and eyeballed away the immediate protest, which dried on Drumknott’s lips.  “I’m fine, honestly,” Drumknott instead attempted weakly, to which Vetinari huffed disbelievingly, but otherwise made no comment. After what felt like hours, they reached the top of the stairs, and headed together to the Patrician’s suite along the corridor.

Drumknott had forgotten he still had the cane until he lowered himself cautiously into the sofa by the fire. The curiously burning fire, despite the lateness of the hour. He looked quizzically over at Vetinari, who had rung the bell for a late dinner, and was rewarded with a blank gaze which informed him that he would not receive an answer to that particular question. He rested his head on the high winged back of the sofa and dozed, trying to reacquire some sense of equilibrium after the first sustained exercise he had had in days. He had thought he was improving at quite a rapid pace, but realised muzzily that this was largely due to the sedentary life offered in the cells of Pseudopolis Yard.

It came as quite a surprise to him when he woke a little later and saw that dinner had been brought in and set on the small table in the corner; he must have slept more deeply than he had thought. He rose to his feet a little more easily than he had in the carriage, leaning on Vetinari’s arm more because he _could_ than due to necessity (a cane _and_ an arm was definitely over-hedging).

At the first sip of proper tea, which he had, with something less than his usual adherence to etiquette, poured before the meal (though he supposed allowances could be made, given the circumstances), he felt himself rally almost immediately. The stuff they gave you in Pseudopolis Yard was like drinking Ankh-Morpork gutter water, flavoured with some kind of gravy. The meal was a plain one, as they usually had, but he had only managed half of it before he felt so full he could burst. Perhaps that was also the issue; the Watch food, while plentiful, had often been so cold as to make it unpalatable (not to mention that the colder it got, the more the grease and fat solidified, making the use of a knife and fork a considerable burden, if not an impossible task). He downed his third cup of tea in half an hour, beginning to feel more human.

“Thank you, Havelock,” he said, smiling tiredly. His eyes began to drift shut again. He should really go to bed.

Vetinari, however, frowned minutely, rising easily to his feet and (reading his thoughts as always) offering Drumknott his hand to help him up. “You should not thank me, Rufus.” The hand tightened infinitesimally, then vanished. Drumknott almost swayed, feeling bereft. “It is due to my lifestyle that you were so badly injured. It was- so close to something much more terminal...” A lifetime of schooling his expression to impassivity meant that nothing of the anguish in his voice showed on Vetinari’s face, yet Drumknott still somehow felt the need to comfort him. Words seemed to muddy the air, however; he remained silent.

They stood there in the middle of the room face to face, both with their own private thoughts of the last few days tapping at the windows of their respective brains. Vetinari eventually stepped forward, running a hand down Drumknott’s arm to clasp their hands together again by their side. Neither moved, save to adjust their line of vision to take in the whole of the other’s expression, after so long apart. Vetinari’s hair had grown a little during their confinement, exposing a colour which might have been auburn in his youth but was now a softer mousey brown. Drumknott found himself utterly charmed, despite the circumstances which had necessitated that state of affairs. His smile at the other was answered with a slightly bemused one, and he leaned up a little to press a light kiss to a jaw as pristinely kept as it always was (the Watch House, while lacking in black hair dye, did in fact possess a mirror and razor, though one would disbelieve it to see its personnel).

Vetinari’s smile deepened, and he gently tilted Drumknott’s head up with his free hand into a kiss so soft it could have been characterised as tentative, had that been an adjective capable of describing any of the Patrician’s actions in any circumstance.

This was the atmosphere of which ill-conceived admissions were birthed – both felt it; both remained silent, emptying the words they couldn’t say out loud into the minimal contact between them. Eventually they broke apart, just as quietly, heads together and eyes closed, though their breaths came a little heavier than usual in the minute space. Vetinari raised their joined hands to head height, leaning into them contentedly like some kind of overgrown cat, before pressing one last brief kiss to the other’s lips and pulling him gently towards the next room over, and the big four-poster it contained.

Drumknott resisted for the briefest of seconds, working his mouth around the words, “It’s still early,” then relented, allowing himself to be led. The blessed feel of a real mattress after days on something which could equally have been made of straw or concrete had his eyes falling shut in seconds. He was barely awake to register Vetinari slipping in beside him, as close as he could get without endangering his injury.

“Goodnight, Rufus,” came the voice in the darkness. He hummed quietly in reply, so soft it was no more than a breath.

And so, at half past nine at night (for the first time in living memory), they slept.

***

And in the morning, the combined favours of proper food and genuine rest had done their work, and Drumknott felt able to carry out, if not strenuous lifting, then at least largely coach-bound visits to for example the newspaper offices, and light paperwork. This state of affairs was fortunate for the general running of the city, for Vetinari had growled rather decisively in between kisses at around eight that morning, “I refuse to let you out of my sight, Rufus. Under no circumstances are you to leave my side. Is this understood?”

Drumknott, rather overwhelmed, had been only too happy to acquiesce.

**Author's Note:**

> Not 100% happy with the timing of the ending, but this has been sitting pretty much done for WEEKS so it's going up. Thought you'd got rid of me, didn't you~ xD  
> I treasure any and all comments... Please comment haha the begging isn't done either <3 Thank you for reading!


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